Not me, but my friend. She had come back from the grocery store, and had put some of her bags on the floor in the back seat of her car. Which got stuck, so she pulled as hard as she could to get them out, they gave way all of a sudden, and she smacked herself square in the nose, and broke it. I still tease her about this today

At my first "dress up" dinner party, I was making this yummy spinach-cucumber soup. Just before the guests arrived, I put it all in the blender and ran it on high. My only mistake was forgetting to put the lid on. The kitchen looked like a crime scene.

My other one was showing off to a neighbor kid when I was 10 and telling him I could do better wheelies on his bike than he could. I was right about the wheelies, but the price I paid for my competitiveness was a spiral fracture of my tibia that had me in various casts for 6 months.

And I had to pay an ER visit once because I super glued my eye shut. I was trying to do fake fingernails and didn't read the instructions. To this day, I don't know how it happened.

Hmmmm.......you must be referring to my husband's birthday this last August. He wanted pizza for his birthday so I made some pizza dough and put it to rise in the oven like I always do. See where this is going? Yep, I preheat the oven to cook the pizza dough and right about when the oven hit 425 I realized the rising dough was still in the oven. Sadly, there was no saving the dough, and I had to scrub the ehell out of the friggin bowl to get it clean. (as an added bonus, the bread sticks I made were god awful). My poor husband wound up w/Papa John's for his birthday pizza dinner.

The silver lining was that I had thankfully made the Boston Cream Pie the night before so at least I didn't ruin that!

Not food related but very stupid. I was playing mini golf in an indoor glow in the dark putting place. We were all being very silly and then I hit my ball way too hard. It ricocheted off of a bunch of things. Then it came back and hit me right in the nose! I was so happy it didn't hit any one else to even think about how bad it hurt.

Separately, I've washed my iPod (iPod 4th gen), dropped a cellphone in a full gutter (it lived), dropped cellphone in washing machine (it didn't), washed an High Ace Card for my Middle School. That last one I still kick myself to this day >.< In my middle school, you could get Ace Cards and High Ace Cards for per-semester use. It allowed you to leave class for lunch/ end of day early, and cut the lunchline to be first. You got them for hard work and great grades. Did I mention that High Ace was the harder of the two to get, and was INFINITE use? Yeah >_<;; It was made of cardboard. At least I got more Ace cards, just never a High Ace again.

I also have a habit of miscoordinating steps to complete a task XD Or, I'm a klutz. I will just try to form the steps in my head, and then I accidentally let go of an object waaay before I'm supposed to. I have dropped my purse, a bowl of cereal, a cat (cat lived ), and pens this way.

Food related: Came home from the market, put groceries away and couldn't find the London broil. Figured I must have left it at the store. Oh well, I have the receipt and will call and get a replacement when I have the time. Three sweltering August days later there's a god-awful smell coming from my trunk. The steak had crawled out of its bag, slipped into a dark corner and festered, ruining the carpet and everything.

Non food related: I dropped my iPhone into a toilet. As it was dropping, time stopped, I grasped the air in slow motion and followed that phone into the water (just used). It didn't survive and I had to autoclave my arm up to the elbow.

Just did one. Was toasting my last bagel and forgot to keep an eye on it. I had the toaster set on light, but my idea of light and the toaster's idea of light are 2 different things. Yup, burnt bagel. And the reason I forgot? I was reading this thread.

Some years ago, when I was newly married, I tried the whole cooking thing. To the extent of making jam.

Now, being a Thoroughly Modern Milly, I decided to do my jam-making via microwave, I even had a special microwave recipe book that had a section on such things!

Hulled the strawberries, washed them, chopped them, added sugar and stuff and whacked them in to nuke. Problem was, I neglected to turn the microwave power down to 70 percent (or whatever it was supposed to be). Being ever efficient, I got on with a few other chores. Came back to a massive red explosion in the microwave, and burned jam sizzling down the front of the cupboards, gently "phhhttting" and stinking the whole place out.

On Wednesday, I took the dog for a walk at lunch time. I put her in her harness, clicked on the leash, check my jacket pockets for baggies and then, switched jackets. My housekeys remained in my other jacket. My door lock clicked as I pulled the door shut! Drats!

Well, my neighbor Janice has a key. She was at work and I don't have that number. I run into another neighbor. Charlie first asks if I'll reimburse him for the long distance call (of course I will!) and I call my Dad; Charlie doesn't have a computer, so I can't email Janice or my realtor. Dad lives 80 miles away. That's 90 minutes by car. I walk the dog and a neighbor lets me into the lobby. Dad lets me in. He's the best! I've debated stopping locking my unit door, but I don't trust the kids across the hall. I think they'd come in, start watching tv, drink all my lemonade and use my computer. (All things they've asked to do in the past.)

A while back, I was at work and Mr. Thipu was home making barley soup. He was used to making pea soup and he's a good cook in general so, things seemed under control.

They weren't.

When making pea soup, you use the whole pound bag of dried peas. Not being used to barley, he did the same thing when the recipe called for only half a cup. Have you ever seen a big soup pot completely filled with barley? It's an awesome sight.

The soup did turn out well but, for a week, we were eating boiled barley with every meal.

This is a family story that comes from the 1920s. In the USA, that was Prohibition.

To beat the ban, Grandpa made his own beer. These days, home brewing is both legal and scientific. Back then, it was neither.

The final fermentation was achieved by putting a few raisins in each bottle before it was capped. In the family home, the bottles were then put out in the back lobby to finish brewing.

On one batch, things went horribly wrong. The raisins were potent and the bottles started exploding. Because the back lobby also served as a larder for the family food supply, something had to be done.

A younger son was given the task. He was 'armored' with a saucepan on his head, a pillow strapped to his chest, heavy gloves, and towels wrapped around his arms. His job was to open the lobby door and throw the bottles into the back yard.

A few weeks ago on a Monday night, I was trying to cook fish sticks at my apartment in Kingston (my university town. So, not at home.) I had never used the oven before, not even last year (always just used the burners) so I wasn't prepared for how small the interior was - the cookie sheet barely even fit in there, and in fact it got stuck a bit and I had to wiggle it to get it in.

That wasn't the mistake. The mistake was that I didn't notice the potholder AND the oven mitts that were...um...hanging right next to the stove, so I tried to use dishtowels to shield my hands. It worked the first time, and when I was getting them out to turn them.

When I went to put them back in, however, it was a different story. I wrapped the dishtowels around my hands and tried to put the cookie sheet back in.

It got stuck.

I couldn't get it in or out. I wiggled it and yanked in vain, but it was completely stuck. I wiggled again, and the sheet TIPPED. The fish fell out and fell on the rack and the element, and the dishtowel came unraveled from my hand and hit the element and caught fire. I yelled a bevy of swear words and shook the towel. Luckily the flames went right out! Unfortunately, in the midst of doing this, my hand it the rack, leaving a nice burn on my finger, which oddly enough didn't even hurt at the time.

Now the flames were gone, but there were still fish sticks all over the bottom of the oven, around the element. For obvious reasons, I was a little scared to stick my hand in there around a piece of metal that had previously been heated to 425 degrees! So I left the oven door open for awhile to let it cool, then carefully extracted them with a fork.

The fish was delicious, if not a little charred. And to this day, my housemates have never asked me why there is a charred hole in the bottom of one of the dishtowels.

A younger son was given the task. He was 'armored' with a saucepan on his head, a pillow strapped to his chest, heavy gloves, and towels wrapped around his arms. His job was to open the lobby door and throw the bottles into the back yard.